


Decepticon Wiles

by ultharkitty



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Non-Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:36:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8066605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty
Summary: Blast Off and Whirl have a wild night. This is the aftermath. 
Contains: tactile and p'n'p, mention of violence, mention of bar brawl, mention of empurata and dystopic society
A commission by an anonymous wonderful person ;)





	

"This is all your fault," Whirl stated, glaring at the shuttle.

Blast Off looked shocked, as though there was anyone else in the holding cell. "Who? Me?" 

"Of course you. Who did you think I meant?" Whirl clicked his claws. Leaning against the scratched steel wall, he crossed his arms under his chest, hip cocked.

Blast Off gave him a look. "You started it."

"Yep,” Whirl turned his gaze to the ceiling. “Let’s blame the empurata victim. It’s _always_ his fault.”

“Well… yes. You shot the bartender.”

“I didn’t mean to!” Whirl rounded on his cellmate, segmented armour bristling. “And while we’re dissecting last night, whose hands were round my gun barrels when that happened? Huh?”

Blast Off raised an optic ridge. “Where else was I meant to put them?” 

Whirl’s optic widened. “I’m a weapon, maybe somewhere else?”

“That’s not what you said when you planted yourself on my lap.” Blast Off leaned back, stretching out his legs. He patted the bench beside him. “You’re not a weapon, sit down.”

Optic narrowed again, Whirl shook his head. “Nuh-huh, that’s a trap.”

“Excuse me?” The shuttle was pouting under that mask, Whirl could hear it.

“It’s. A. Trap,” he repeated, watching the trajectory of Blast Off’s gaze. “Next to you’s one step away from on top of you, and I do not need that kinda trouble.” He adjusted his stance, putting his thighs in better light. Yep, definitely looking. “This is nothing to you,” he stated. "Your little criminal friends gonna come up and pay your bribes and get you outta here just like that.” He tapped his cockpit glass for emphasis. “You’re gonna use me and leave me here.”

Blast Off continued to look. “Your logic is very difficult to follow.”

“So you _know_ your friends are criminals?”

“The Decepticons are an ideological movement for social change, they… I’m not getting into this with you again. Just sit down, please.”

“Or what?” Whirl said. “You gonna _make_ me sit down?” He rolled his shoulders, making his rotors arc just to watch for the subtle shift in Blast Off’s optics. “We should’a just stuck to fighting.”

Blast Off made a noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh. “Because that would have been fun.”

“We got arrested! I’m not meant to get arrested! I… This is the Pit.”

“But it’s perfectly fine for _me_ to be in this cell?” 

Whirl shrugged. “You’re a Decepticon.”

“You’re an aft.”

“ _You’re_ an aft.” He stretched, his rotors grazing the ceiling. “Stupid tiny cell. All right, move over, maybe I _will_ sit down. See how you like that.” 

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll use my Decepticon wiles to ensnare you?” Blast Off said, but he moved to the end of the bench, giving Whirl the space to sit down. 

Whirl sprawled, legs outstretched and rotors wide. He shuffled around, leaning a blade against the shuttle’s shoulder, using Blast Off’s leg as a convenient place to rest his knee. 

“Be careful,” the shuttle said. “I’ll get you with my energy field.”

“Shut up.” Whirl folded his arms behind his head. “How long they gonna keep us in here?”

“I don’t know,” Blast Off replied. “I think it depends how badly injured the bartender is, and whether he wants to press charges.”

“What if he does?”

“Then your Autobot superiors will provide you with a lawyer, and… I’ve called in a favour.”

“A criminal favour…”

Blast Off sighed. “A political favour,” he said. “Are you always this aggravating?”

“Says Mr ‘I can’t keep my energy field still for three seconds’.”

Blast Off folded his hands in his lap, and damn him for making Whirl look. Whirl knew good hands when he saw them, and these were _good_ hands. Finely made, well crafted, well maintained, and scrap but they’d felt even better running over his waist in the bar, reaching around to stroke his gun barrels. 

Whirl coughed. “What’s the matter, got nothing to say?”

It was a moment before Blast Off spoke, and when he did his tone was soft, reticent, surprising. “I... apologise,” he said. “I didn’t realise that… you’d go off like that. It wasn’t my intent to make you discharge your weapons.”

“Huh, doesn’t matter,” Whirl said. “He’s not dead.”

“He’s not, but I should have given it some thought.”

“And what? Aimed me at the ceiling?”

Blast off shrugged. “Why not?” His energy field gave one of those promising little nudges. “At least then the worst we’d be facing is a fine.”

“Ha, on what planet?” Whirl nudged him back. “We’re facing attempted murder, incitement to riot, causing a public disturbance, interfacing without due care and attention, and punching a cop in the face. Aiming me at the ceiling only fixes one of those.”

“It’s a start,” Blast Off said. 

“Ha! Why _did_ you punch that cop?”

“She was between me and the door. Why did you throw your empty cubes at that Autobot officer?”

“Cause I’d just shot a guy and I wanted to make a distraction and get the frag outta there?”

“Ah.” 

Whirl slumped. “Ugh, why is this taking so long!” When the shuttle only shrugged, Whirl began to tap his foot. Couldn’t Blast Off do that energy field thing again? He’d been all over Whirl with his tingling fluctuations the night before, pushing this heady warmth through Whirl’s armour, pulsing through his sensor net. And that had been before Whirl loomed over him and suggested swapping connectors under the table. 

The shuttle had seemed to like the looming. And the rotors, and the feel of Whirl’s thick thighs, the narrowness of his waist. They’d slunk off to the corner booth, hidden from just about everyone by a group of construction-class grounders clustered around a datapad streaming some sports thing. The grounders gave a cheer every so often, taking a shot each time, and Whirl took his own shots through the injector port in his neck while he poured a sticky stream of concentrated engex over the arc of his claw and into the shuttle’s open mouth.

Blast Off had a nice mouth, good lips. Well crafted, like his hands. 

Whirl snicked his claws and tucked them under his cockpit. He glanced at the shuttle. How could he be so calm? Was that even calmness he was radiating? Resignation? Control? Whirl had no idea. He cleared his throat. “Why did you say I’m not a weapon?”

“Hmm?”

“Forget it.” Whirl glared at the floor. They should have kept fighting. Back at the beginning, before the bar and the drinks and the slow hot frag. They should have kept it to the alley, an Autobot and a Decepticon beating the scrap out of each other like nature intended. 

“You’re _not_ a weapon,” Blast Off said quietly. His energy field rippled, tugging at Whirl’s sensors like a magnet. “It’s a Functionist trick, they want you to view yourself in the same reductive way they do. _They_ think you’re a weapon, they _want_ you to be a weapon, but it’s a lie, and you don’t have to buy into it.”

“The frag am I then?” Whirl grumbled, still giving the floor the heated glare he didn’t really want to turn on the shuttle. 

“That’s up to you,” Blast Off replied. He shuffled back on the bench, his arm coming into contact with Whirl’s. Whirl did not edge away. 

“Hey,” Whirl said, trying to force a little bravado back into his voice. “Don’t you have a fin thing on your back? I know you had one last night.”

Blast Off frowned at him, then leaned forward a little. “It’s a vertical stabiliser,” he said. “And it folds down.” 

“Neat. You, uh, you know your way around a rotary.” Whirl flinched; that wasn’t what he’d meant to say, and now he couldn’t take it back, and the shuttle was looking at him, those optics all purple and his mask hiding frag-knew what kind of expression. 

Blast Off was about to reply when footsteps registered in the hallway and a shadow appeared on the other side of the energon bars. Whirl blew air through his vents; saved by the cop, what a turn around. Blast Off’s energy field flickered, a little nudge in the direction of Whirl’s clawtip. Whirl fidgeted. 

“I’m sorry for the delay,” the cop said to Blast Off, as the bars fizzled out and Whirl could see her properly. She was large, easily as wide as she was tall, her green armour pitted but well polished. “You’re free to go.”

Whirl glared as Blast Off stood. What kind of political favour could a Decepticon pull? Probably had alpha friends from before the scrap hit the fan. Stupid alphas banding together. 

“You too, sir,” the cop said. “You’re both free to go, and I’d appreciate it if you went quickly.”

Whirl sprang off the bench before his brain had caught up with his audials. He closed in behind Blast Off, resting a claw on the shuttle’s hip. Blast Off didn’t respond, but he didn’t extend his stabiliser thing either so Whirl guessed that was a sign he didn’t need to back off. 

Whirl followed him through the station, through processing where the green cop made them sign their discharge forms, and out into the gritty grey of a Polyhex morning. Whirl looked around, taking in the passing grounders, the sky full of fliers. No-one was there to meet them. And no-one was watching either. 

“You got me out,” he stated. “That favour you pulled-”

“I don’t trust the Autobots to provide you with a lawyer,” Blast Off said. He glanced at a nearby street sign, his optics dimming - Whirl guessed he was hitting up the city’s data net. “I’m tired and I’m dirty. I’m not flying home like this.”

“What you gonna do?” Whirl could have left, could have taken to the skies and headed back to base. He scuffed a foot on the dusty floor.

“Get clean,” Blast Off said. “Refuel.” He turned on his heel, striking out in the direction of the commercial district. “Are you coming or not?”

* * *

Whirl waited through the long walk to the motel. He waited through check-in, and the tedious climb up antiquated stairs to their room. He waited until the waiting scraped on his every nerve, and his only option was to wrap a claw around the shuttle’s heavy forearm and shove him against the wall. 

Blast Off’s vents whirled, his free hand dropping the key card. “You couldn’t have held on five more seconds?” he said, but Whirl flared his energy field, and the response was entirely gratifying. Blast Off’s mask slid aside, his own energy field crackling. He reached up, squirming around the side of Whirl’s cockpit, and settled his lips on the curve of Whirl’s throat. His tongue found the ridge of his injector port, and Whirl nearly lost the feeling in his legs. 

“Let’s take this inside?” Blast Off whispered, and the vibrations from his voice made Whirl’s engine roar. He scooped up the shuttle, and grabbed the key card from the floor. “Put me down!”

“Nope.” Whirl got the door open on the third try. The room was small, cosy even, and clean. He let the door slam behind him and spun around on his heel to let himself fall slowly back onto the recharge platform, Blast Off landing on top of him. “Tell me I’ve got the moves!”

“Oaf,” Blast Off grumbled, but it didn’t stop him from curling around Whirl’s canopy, bringing his attention back to the injector port. Whirl arched, then shivered as Blast Off found the base of his closest gun, fingers squeezing before moving on to trace the outline of Whirl’s interface hatch. Whirl felt the triumph in his energy field as he pressed the corner just so and the thing sprang open. 

“What the frag?!” Whirl rested a claw on the back of Blast Off’s head, another on the back of his hand, nestled in a coil of Whirl’s own interface cable, stroking and teasing. 

“You said it yourself,” Blast Off murmured against Whirl’s throat. He thumbed the connector, prompting little sparks and the shiver of heat that could only build. “I know my way around a rotary.”


End file.
